BRAINSTORM

Chapter Nineteen - Deficit of courage.

"You can see why I'm confused, Doctor." 

Jameson ignored Jack's question and stared at the ground, while Jack occupied himself inspecting the room. Books bound in jewel-toned leather lined the walls, separated periodically by more sober neighbors of brown and black. The light and warmth from the flames in the fireplace softened the books' rectangular edges and imparted a sense of hominess. 

Jameson looked up, interrupting Jack's thoughts. "You have reason to be wary."

"What do you mean?"

"Scott Maxwell is not a particularly kind person."

Jack couldn't help but laugh. "That's obvious. What are you trying to tell me?"

"I can't explain." Jameson contemplated the fire, looking like he wanted to lose himself in it.

Jack studied the reflection of the flames in Jameson's eyes. "Why not?" 

"It would put you in more danger."

" I didn't know I was in danger. Talk to me, Dr. Jameson. Please."

"I can't tell you anything specific." 

"There was a labeling discrepancy with my TR group. Is that something I should be worried about?"

Jameson shook his head. "No, your real group would never make that mistake."

Jack tried to keep his voice from raising. "Wasn't I talking to my real group?"

Jameson gave him a look that said explicitly, No, you weren't.

"Jesus F'in Christ," Jack muttered.

Jameson twisted his mouth into a half-frown and half-smile. "It makes sense for you to be upset." He turned his head away and then back, changing the subject. "I'd like to know more about Jeremy. I understand he was the inspiration for your research."

Jack was used to the question. People loved the story of how he'd gotten started in his field. Except, nobody could truly understand what it was like to lose a brother unless they had gone through it. It wasn't something you could explain. Imagine a limb, an organ, being torn from your body as you watched, helpless. That might be a close approximation. And the contrasting ways they dealt with Jeremy's death, divided him from his parents–another aching loss. They had been close before tragedy ripped them apart.

Jack crossed his arms across his chest, only answering out of politeness. "He was just like the clichés you've heard of all children who die of cancer. He was sweet, loving, kind, an inspiration to those around him." Jack paused. Jeremy truly embodied each of those adjectives. "I never could accept that he had to die, that somehow it was fine because he was such a great human being while he was alive."

Jameson raised his eyebrows. "Please, continue."

"Everyone always acts like, just because the kid is nearly an angel, it's some kind of consolation prize when he becomes one. I loved Jeremy, but I wanted him alive, with me, not to become some beautiful heart-wrenching story. Frankly, his death pissed me off. I wanted him back." He clenched the arms of the chair, looking at the floor. "I wanted my brother."

He relaxed his grip and let his arms drop, embarrassed he'd shown so much emotion.

"And that's why you came here. So other children wouldn't need to die and leave their brothers or sisters behind."

Jack nodded.

"That's the best reason that anyone has ever had. Jack, I wish . . ." He released a long sigh. "I'm sorry, Jack. You probably should go."